


Daminette December Attempts

by Saltyfang



Series: Daminette December [9]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Human Trafficking, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltyfang/pseuds/Saltyfang
Summary: A random mess of workings for Daminette December.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Batfamily Members & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne
Series: Daminette December [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038626
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	1. Snowglobe

**Author's Note:**

> I really have bad timing. Also, these are the prompts I actually completed before the deadline although I combined some prompts.

Damian had gone to pick up something as trivial as a snow globe to satisfy his family.

_‘It’s the least you could do.’ They said._

_‘You might even meet someone.’_ Whispered Dick, wriggling his eyebrows.

_‘Be nice to the cashier and other customers.’_ He actually respected that; it was a valid point and a good reminder for him not to be so _‘grumpy'._

_‘He’s better off using self-checkout. That way he won’t actually have to open his mouth.’_

Tt. As if he didn’t have the capacity to be appreciative of people. Sure, he loathed it but it didn’t mean that he was incompetent to. He just rarely made the decision to express his gratitude. Which is why he made an extra effort to be ‘ _kind_ ' to the workers at the store.

He had smiled, a smile usually saved for unpleasantly extensive galas, in which his teeth were on display. It was usually more of a grimace than a smile but he was conscious of the point he had to prove. So, his smirk transcended into a genuine, dorky grin. The cashiers were shocked, one had even fainted, when he smiled and thanked them for their efforts.

Was it _that_ hard to believe he could be nice? There would be rumours in tabloids, he could see the headlines now. _‘The Ice Prince's Icy Heart Thawed' or ‘A Villain To Blame For The New Damian Wayne?’_. It would be something absurd- something ridiculously sensationalised and everyone would believe it. The last villain that had taken the Wayne’s hostage would be credited with something as simple as a behavioural shift? 

_**Ridiculous**_. His whole reputation would be discarded because someone had managed to ‘ _control_ ’ him? Make him their personal puppet? He’d be a laughing stock. And if that wasn’t something he hated...

He was so enraptured in his thoughts that he failed to see the person walking in the opposite direction. He only noticed when he felt his trousers become wet and saw the shards of the globe in the snow. 

“Je suis désolé monsieur. I didn’t mean to knock you over.” The female voice whispered frantically. 

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going next time, you absent minded moron.”

“Sir, I’ll replace the snow globe. I really am sorry but you are just as at fault as I am.” He had been so frustrated with her that he stalked off, not realising that he had left his wallet. He strode away, entering the sleek limousine before slamming the door shut.

“Sir, you dropped something.” She yelled, gesturing to the object wildly. In any other circumstances, she would have chased after him but she was:

Late for her internship and he had already disappeared. She’d most likely never see him again but if she could find some identification then she would hand it in to the local police station. But right now, her job was at stake if she didn’t hurry along. How was she late on her _first_ day?

“Did you get the globe?”

“I did acquire the globe.”

“Well then where is it?”

“It’s on my forehead.”

  
“Haha, very funny but the only thing on your forehead is the shape of an L.” Retorted Stephanie, high fiving the whole family.

“I didn’t comprehend your humour.”

“Who raised this uncultured child? Bruce, you did a terrible job at it.”

“I’m just not acquitted with all this nonsense. Seriously, where do you think it is?”

“I say he didn’t buy it and just used the cash to polish his swords.”

“This has become an interrogation? Well, if you must know, a woman knocked it out of my hands and now it’s somewhere in the streets.” He rose, feeling as though the information would suffice. He needed a shower and he needed to meet the new intern. There was no use looking unprofessional. After all, first impressions were key and the wet patch on his trousers? Let’s just say it looked like he wasn’t potty trained.

He had left his clothes on the bed. With his wallet in his trousers. Now, his wallet was missing. And his clothes weren’t in the same position that he left them in. Either, this person lacked common sense by forgetting that his trousers were very clearly on the bed before he left or they were a little shit. Leading him to one justifiable conclusion.

“Todd! Where the _hell_ is my wallet?” He heard the pounding footsteps as Jason threw open his room door.

“Mind your language, you little gremlin.”

“Oh, may I ascertain the whereabouts of my fucking wallet? I know it’s in your possession, Todd.”

“Really appreciating the sarcasm but why would I take your wallet? “

“It’s you. There are a number of reasons stacked against you and you know each and every one of them.”

“Fine. But I swear, I didn’t touch your stupid wallet. Maybe it was that chick you bumped into in the streets. It sounds like a legit tactic to pick pocket someone with such a short temper.”

“Some random person has my wallet and I probably won’t get it back again?”

“Just ask Commissioner Gordon, he knows everyone. Just give him an accurate description and he’ll find them in no time. And remember, you’re on intern duty and they should be arriving any minute now.”

“Don’t remind me. They said that they used she/her pronouns, right?”

“Yup. Why do you care?”

“I’m emotionally constipated but I’m not actively a dick. I don’t want to make them uncomfortable.”

“Well go and wait for her. Maybe in the back though. No need to scare her off _**straight away**_.”

“Just call me down when it’s time. I have things to do. No point in being idle and waiting.”

Marinette knew that it was really audacious for her to take a quick detour and buy a new snow globe for the gentleman that she knocked over when she was already late. But, in his wallet, he had a card that showed that he worked at Wayne Enterprises, which is where she was headed. So, she’d bought it, with her _own_ money to create a truce.

They were both at fault for what happened but she had to compensate him and apologise. It was the least she could do, especially after seeing his blood taint the snow. She had injured him and she felt the guilt gnaw at her slowly. Which is why she was determined to apologise sincerely, even if she didn’t get one in return.

In the meantime, she would give out the treats she made. She had spent a while on them but she could easily just give them to charity or feed Tikki extra if no one wanted them. She had taken allergies into account, lugging around ten different types of cookies. She wanted to make sure her colleagues were well fed which is why she requested list of allergies. Of course, she separated them into different boxes, reducing the risk of cross contamination.

She was surprised when people begged for more. They weren’t her best creations. Not by a long shot. She was even more surprised when people brought out cash to pay her for them. She declined, of course, but she had the same question for all of them.

“Does Damian Wayne work here?”

She was slightly surprised when Jason, the brooding male, pulled her aside.

“Who wants to know if Demon spawn works here?”

“I want to know if Damian works here? And you know who I am.”

“What’s your affiliation with Damian?”

“Uhh, I bumped into him and his snow globe shattered? He also left his wallet so I want to return it to him.”

“He has all that cash in his wallet and you weren’t tempted to steal it?”

“If anything, I wanted to _yeet_ it at his head.”

“You are so precious. We have to keep you. Dick, I have a new sister. She’s so precious and tiny.”

“This tiny girl could snap your kneecaps without breaking a sweat.”

“She’s perfect. Oh, and Damian does work here. He’s right behind you with that menacing glare.”

“You. You are the one who stole my wallet. “

“I was retur-"

“Save it. I’ve met people like you before. You **_love_** to play the victim card. Just go. Don’t come back.” 

She ran out, feeling infuriated but also dejected. Fired on her first day and her reputation was in tatters. For something she didn’t even do. If that was how they treated employees, then she was happy that she dodged that bullet.

“Demon spawn. You _fucked_ up. She was returning your wallet to you. And she bought you a new snow globe. She even baked us cookies and you sent her away. For someone who thinks they know everything, you really _don’t_. Especially after you messed up something this big.”

“Well how was I supposed to know? And where’s the intern?”

“That was the intern, you douche. And you find out by _listening_ to her side of the story.”

“So, she can manipulate me? No thanks.”

“Her story was legit. Guess you wouldn’t know though. Bruce is going to be so proud of you after you scared away that gem.” Snarled Jason, stomping away to Dick who was examining the fur coat that he’d seen the young lady wear.

First plan of action:

Return that coat. 

Then apologise. It was the _least_ he could do.


	2. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation from Snowglobe

Damian had soon found that it was incredibly easy to track a person’s movement in Gotham. That was why the Wayne’s had been kidnapped so frequently. A lack of security and inadequately installed surveillance meant that he could directly pinpoint his target. He would have to move quickly though, as it seemed that he wasn’t the only one in pursuit of her.

  
When he arrived, the two dots- thugs, he’d later find out- had been knocked completely out. Reaching a grand height if 5ft 4inches in her kitten heels stood his intern. No, he had lost the right to call her an intern when he threw a bratty tantrum. He’d come to make amends and perhaps dazzle her with his superior feats of athleticism but _he_ had been left gawking. 

  
The sight in front of him was one he’d never forget. Her hair was in a loose, messy bun, her eyes framed with a luscious flick of mascara and her cheeks were slightly flushed. She panted, doubled over as she examined the tightness of the rope. It was slightly frayed, having been conveniently stashed in the alleyway but it was still incredibly firm. A slight tug confirmed that it wouldn’t dig into their wrists as she was seemingly concerned for their welfare. 

  
He waited, watching her dial the number for the GCPD. He noted the casual attire she was in, snickering quietly to himself once he was hit with the realisation of it being a onesie. He couldn’t decide whether it was a smart yet crude statement or if it was just darn cute. Wait. _Cute_? 

  
Before he could rectify his internal mistake, he felt a light tap on the shoulder before he was flipped over.

  
“Are you going to stand there and watch me like a _creep_? Or are you going to help your buddies out of this mess?”

  
“There’s been a misunderstanding.”

  
“Hush. I recognise your voice. You’re that _**asshole**_ employer from before. Didn’t even let me explain myself."

  
“Miss-"

  
“I'm speaking now. Let me go off and throw a tantrum or launch into a childish tirade. You deserve it.”

  
“Miss-"

  
“No. Leave. Me. Alone.” She grit out her command, whirling around to direct a frosty glare at Damian.

  
“Miss, they’re approaching.”

  
“You think I don’t know?” she questioned, raising her fist in sync with the rapidly approaching thug. Thug number one tried to sweep her legs out from underneath her in with she leaped, fly kicking him in the face.

  
Thug number two roughly grabbed Damian's shoulder, hurling him against the dumpster before pouncing on him. He bound his hands -tightly- and slowly dragged out his knife. Damian caught his movement from the silver glint that reflected in his cold brown eyes. He felt him apply pressure, a warning hidden in plain sight. 

  
‘ _Give us everything and let us go. Or the man gets hurt.’_

  
Damian had been rendered useless leaving the decision up to the unknown lady who had absolutely no obligation to assist him. No matter how dire the situation appeared to be, he expected her to flee or faint from the imminent death she would face should she remain.

But this woman proved time and time again that she was no quitter. Her unwavering desire to help outweighed her instincts of self-preservation meaning that she was going to do her best to try and escape with him. With them both being alive.


	3. Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alfred the Cat is the best wingman and Damian is a flustered boy.

Damian loved cats. Kittens were the absolute cutest but cats were awesome too. Of course, having cats and a dog never really worked well but they made it work. Titus had taken to them quite quickly and he had even defended them from the grubby little hands of the brats known as children. Titus had growled at them and they had cried, sprinting in the other direction. One had even used the principal as a human shield and due to the corrupt nature of his school, he didn’t face any repercussions. He had claimed it was ‘ _bring your pet to school’_ day and everyone was more than willing to oblige.

Anyways, his cats were blessed creatures that had the protection of an intimidating yet adorable guard dog. Although his guard dog was weak to the charm of somebody else. To the point where he obeyed her commands over his own. Not that he could blame him but the betrayal. _Titus the traitor_ was on his newly engraved collar and yet that seemed to make him drift towards Marinette more.

Marinette. The only person who could render him speechless. His coy, cute, outspoken classmate who sat behind him was his worst nightmare. She was his first crush and he had no idea on how to deal with it. He asked to move seats several times but he had been ignored at each protest. He couldn’t focus when he felt her play with the tips of his hair and he couldn’t tell her to stop or he’d draw too much attention to them. And he kinda, sorta, definitely liked it. **Okay**! There he admitted it.

He loved having her play with his hair. It made him relax but then also gave him goosebumps all over his skin. Her tender touch put him in a trance and the only other being who knew about it was Alfred the cat.

His most loyal confidant. He could sit with Alfred for hours and rant about his troubles and not once would a hint of judgement cloud his expression. His yellow eyes would blink lazily and he would mew his comforts at Damian.

He had even given Damian enough courage to ask Marinette to the dance. For some peculiar reason, she had agreed, but she had asked him if he like cats more than dogs. He hadn’t realised why until he noticed the amount of fur on his blazer because of how territorial Alfred could be.

Alfred was also the best wingman - _wingcat_ \- that had ever existed, scoring him a date with his first and only love. She had even given him her number, texting him pictures of her kittens, Tikki and Plagg. She had also been relentless sending a flurry of memes about cats.

But the thing that made him nearly faint had been the picture she sent of her outfit for the dance. It was simple yet detailed with such embroidery and he hadn’t even realised that it was in his colours until Alfred pointed it out to him. He had nearly fainted again but instead chose to fall onto his bed and sigh, completely lovesick.

Damian had made sure he somewhat matched with his date -he pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t accidentally fantasizing about the ‘ _date_ '. When he got results that this was indeed the reality, he grabbed the rose on his bed and set foot into the limousine.

Damian had known Marinette was pretty, incredibly so, but he hadn’t expected her to look this good. And he had seen her outfit beforehand. So, what if he had thought he had been completely prepared? All of that progress got thrown out of the window when Marinette rocked up to the party in kitten heels, a kitten headband highlighting the curl of her fringe, winged eyeliner and a cute dress in his Robin colours. He felt a little dizzy. Light headed too. 

“I don’t know about you but I prefer cats over dogs,” she whispered feistily, winking at him. “Although, you’ll always be my favourite, cat man.” Damian was down for the count with the intense amount of blood spurting from his nose. He saw the worry creep across her features and tried playing it off by acting suave.

“I’m the cat’s meow.” He grumbled, clumsy smirk on his face.

“Not even close. But you are my date. So, let’s dance!” She yelled, running straight to the centre of the dance floor.

Only one problem:

They were both _terrible_ dancers.


	4. Betrothed and royalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Childhood friends kind of if you can count that simple interaction. Talia is trying to sell away her son's freedom.

If you had told Marinette that she’d be a princess when she was sixteen, she’d have _cackled_ in your face. Sure, she dreamed endlessly of being one but ultimately, the pressure and the stress started her clear away from that direction. Still, she’d appreciate the dry humour and fire a sarcastic comment at you.

But looking at herself dressed fairly casually in a surprise appearance at the palace, five years on at twenty one, seemed utterly absurd. It was certainly laughable, to say the least. Especially as she was severely under dressed and was about to meet the stuck-up grouch that was the heir to the throne. She would be expected to be courteous, a skill she lacked, and carry an air of debonair flair. She would probably be escorted out of the palace by guards because of her lack of coordination. She’d knock over a priceless heirloom, trip into the prince and spend the rest of her life trying to pay off the outstanding debt she was in.

That was why she had tried to flee from the ceremony. In her two shoes, thank you very much. This wasn’t some fairy tale where she’d find her prince charming through a missing shoe. When several other women had the same shoe size as her but her feet were somehow more acclimatise to the magical slipper.

Yeah. _No thanks_. If she was going to run away, she needed both so she wouldn’t slip, trip or kick anything. She had tried to discreetly leap out of the carriage but her maman had ensured that she remained in her seat. If she rolled out, she’d take out her frail, old maman and that would be disastrous, considering that they wouldn’t have enough to pay her hospital fees. They barely had enough to keep the bakery afloat now that the price if common necessities had spiked. Only the rich could afford their goodies so they opted to donate. Donate to those who didn’t have enough food or money, those who had no home and no one to call family. Those who had been vulnerable to the cruelty of this world. But they even donated to those who had supplies. After all, a little bit of cheer and kindness wouldn’t kill anybody.

Their act of immeasurable hospitality and benevolence was recognised throughout the kingdom which had led to their invitation. A very swift yet surprising invitation but an invitation nonetheless. Sabine had had a few dresses that were still in decent condition, sewed by none other than Marinette. Marinette however had barely anything. Designing for her friends and family was more fun than designing for herself and she much preferred jeans to dresses. 

But she did have one secret weapon at her disposal. She knew how to blend dress styles. She despised dresses, sure, but skirts were pretty awesome. Combine jeans with a loose but formal shirt and cheap jewellery and you’d end up with one rocking ensemble. Which is what she ended up with.

A rumpled red, sleeveless, button up shirt with the buttons being black. And rumpled red jeans which she purposely didn’t iron to enhance the messy look. If anyone asked, it was a rumpled jumpsuit which would have went well with a contemporary audience. That shut them up incredibly quickly so she wouldn’t have to worry about critics. Her mask had been a simple black one with red thread seamlessly embroidered in. Once the light hit, the mask glittered, shining brightly which would add a little more flair to her outfit.

It was no secret that the prince, Damian Al Ghul, was in need if a betrothed according to his mother. There had been numerous competitions to narrow down those worthy of his hand in marriage but the decision came down to him. His only say in the whole affair.

Not like it mattered anyways as he was getting married out of necessity, not wilfully choosing to. He had once dreamed of a love as joyous as those in fairy tales and yet he felt his pride dwindle whenever he revisited that fallacy. True love was never a viable solution to solving a problem. True love was a farce- one which was told to improve the hopes of foolish people. Commoners and royalty had never, in his entire heritage, mixed. 

Inter class mingling was forbade and yet, at the feeble age of six, he had made a friend. With a baker’s daughter. His mother had been aghast, putting it mildly, and she had taken extra care to ‘scrub him clean of the dirtiness that he had acquired'. It had only been a little bit of flour on his overalls and it was a small price to pay for her cheering him up.

She had found him crying and like a decent human being, she had hugged him. Of course, he clawed at her hands, frightened at the physical contact, disbelief that someone would embrace him and embarrassment at being caught crying. She slowly loosened her grip, sensing his discomfort and yet he clung to her like she was his only lifeline. He saw how much his hands trembled and how stunned she looked but she rubbed soothing circles into his back, regardless. She let him rest his head on her shoulder and then, without warning, she launched flour into the air.

‘ _Snow_ ,’ she said, noticing his enraptured expression. ‘ _It’s snowing for you, my prince._ ’ Damian had gasped, believing his identity to have been discovered.

‘ _Prince_.’ He remembered whispering back. 

_‘I hope you don’t mind. It’s just that you act and you carry yourself with such graciousness that you looked like a prince to me. You even dress like one. Sorry though, I understand if you don’t like me calling you that.’_ She flashed an adorably toothy grin at him, one which was so infectious that he found himself reciprocating it. There was no way she could have known he was a prince because his mother had kept him away from the public. There was no way to know unless she was connected to his family but the lack of bite and the cheer that she possessed showed that she hadn’t been tainted by his family’s clutches yet.

_‘If I’m a prince_ ,’ he started, keeping his gaze fixated on the ground. ‘ _Will you be my princess?’_ It was odd, feeling his heart race uncharacteristically quickly. He wanted to hear her response but he also wanted to run away.

‘ _Of course. I’d love to be your princess but there’s a very furious looking woman behind you. Do you know her?’_ Ah, all good things must come to an end and it seemed as though his mother was determined to end this. He gave his princess a timid nod and she scampered off, looking back apprehensively to check if he was safe. She gave a quick little wave and ran back to wherever she had been before she found him. 

He had found out that her name was Marinette and that his mother was determined to make sure the family business became bankrupt. False allegations, inflating the prices of goods, putting investments in only for them to collapse. Anything to make sure he would never see her again. He couldn’t imagine the amount of resentment she would carry in her heart at the royal family.

And then, her father had died. Simple enough to be treated and cared for but her family didn’t have the money. And no matter how hard he had tried to find a way to assist them, his mother intercepted, crippling his hope to see her again. 

Incredibly enough, nothing seemed to faze her. She still carried her happy attitude, looking to help others before she helped herself. She donated, worked relentlessly to provide for her mother and still had to find time for her education. She rarely slept, rarely designed, rarely did anything except for work. Which is why he had invited her to his ‘ _betrothal party_ ’. If he failed and she refused to accept his proposal, then his mother would choose. And she chose the witch, Lila Rossi. He could not afford to be bound by marriage to her so Marinette would have to agree.

Which is why he had made it a masked party. That way, Lila couldn't cling onto him like a leech and he could actually try and find Marinette.

But he'd made it more difficult for himself as well. He’d have to bank on his knowledge from fifteen years ago to find out which woman at the party was Marinette. If not, he could kiss his freedom goodbye.


	5. De-aged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not every day when your boss and his family get turnt into a bunch of self aware babies.

  
Two hours ago, Marinette was a normal girl, with a normal life. But there was something about today that nobody knew yet. It was a miracle that she found out before she was affected. Today was ‘Your employer and his family are getting shrunk!’ Day.

"Marinette, why is this place a mess?"

"Ask the babies. I couldn't cause this much destruction by myself."

"You mean a _baby_ picked up a gun and shot the door down?"

“That’s the thing. They all remember what they delve into when they’re not busy. Alfred’s _baking_ , Bruce is sitting there, brooding but also just quietly eating. Jason’s got a gun in his hand shooting with good accuracy. Dear God, the door has been obliterated. He's also swearing like a sailor. Dick is being well Dick and he’s doing acrobatic stunts. Tim isn’t sleeping and is trying to look through classified cold cases whilst running a business. He's got more of his life organised as a baby than _me_.”

  
“Well, you don’t look a day over 27?”

  
“I’m 24. And you’re not helping. Duke is gurgling with what I’m assuming is laughter. He’s actually watching me fail and is laughing. Embarrassingly enough, I lost a game of Uno to him. Cass has managed to attain a katana so it’s not safe for me to go near her. Steph is... Wait. I lost Steph.”

  
“Well, she is exceptionally trained in the art of escapism. Don’t worry though, habibiti, I’m skilled as well.”

  
“Damian, I can’t do it.”

  
“Do what? Look after this lot? Me neither. Living with them isn’t easy but it’d be a pain to leave. And I’m quite fond of them as it is.”

  
“Dames, what do I do?” she whispered, hope shining in her eyes. 

  
“Stay by my side. And wait. We’ll have to be patient and act as though we’re competent. “

  
“This isn’t my first rodeo with kids. But babies? They’re different. Especially your family. What if I mess up and they get injured? What if they hate me?”

  
“Angel, deep breaths. They don’t,” he started, regretting his words mere seconds later as both erupted into tears. “Hate you.” He winced, seeing Marinette gesture at herself and the baby in disbelief. 

  
“Really? Because I _cry_ at the sight of people I love. That’s _totally_ normal, right?” She hissed, frantically wiping at her eyes.

  
“But you cry every time you see me, angel?”

  
“Ok, that’s different. Ow. They’re biting my hand. What do I do?"

“Which baby is that? I’d like to say Todd as he’s the most feral out of this bunch. But Tim on no hours of sleep in a week is pretty savage too. So, which one?”

  
“Honestly, I have no idea. I was too busy panicking to guess which was which.” She heard Damian huff in exasperation as she apologised profusely.

  
“Let’s focus on getting them to relax. We can identify them after. Alright?”

  
“Sounds like a plan to me. But what if we just bribe them?”

  
“How so?”

  
“Put what they like in front of them. Jason gets a book; I don’t need any more of my property damaged. Wait, now I have to call the insurance company. Ugh anyways, Dick gets a mini hula hoop and I get a packet of hula hoops, I’m hella hungry. Would you like a pack, Dames?”

  
“Maybe later. Your plan lacks depth but it’s incredibly logical. I think I can improve it; the question is how long have we got?”

  
“An hour. The safe house is being watched as we speak. If we move now, they’ll now. We either lay low or get caught. And with the serum being so close to wearing off, the risk just isn’t worth it. Let’s work on identifying and changing these babies. Their diapers stink.”

  
“I’ve never changed a diaper.”

  
“Neither have I. You have younger siblings; I am an only child. There was no way I’d have changed a diaper unless I was babysitting like I am now.”

  
“Fine. But you misunderstood my statement. I’ve never changed a diaper and I never will.”

  
“Oh boy. Wayne, you will change a diaper. I’m not going to do this by myself. Hell, I don’t even have to look after them but I chose to. You have to - you promised that if they were compromised, you would become their carer. Or need I remind you of that conversation?” She stated logically, displaying her stony poker face. And yet, her eyes burned brightly with mirth and challenge, waiting for him to object.

  
“Hand me the diapers. I’ll change some. You try and figure who is who. Or else, I’ll be petty and you’ll have to deal with me. Another handful.”

  
“I’ve dealt with you for years. A couple of hours won’t kill me. But I do need to identify them. And find Steph.”

  
“Already found her. She was dangling on the elaborate chandelier in the master bedroom. Which begs the question, _who’s house is this_?”  
“Mine. I’ve been saving up to get my own house, which none of you knew about. Neither do the rogues. I wanted to clean it up before you found out but that plan has been ruined. You can move in or crash here anytime you want.” She said, disappointed that her plan had been foiled by the chaos of the rogues.

  
“How long do we have left?”

  
“Thirty minutes or so?”

  
“Not too bad considering I’d wait an eternity for you. Let’s hope that these guys know how to kick the rogue’s butts after.” They remembered an awful lot about the Rogues and their weak spots. Which led to their defeat in about five minutes. But there was one unanswered question that hung in the air.

  
Why didn’t they just try and find the antidote?


	6. Northern Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you've read or seen We're going on a bear hunt, you recognise the little song they're singing.  
> Instead of a bear hunt, they're going on a book hunt.

  
“Damian, what are you reading?” Whispered Marinette as she finished her act of trying to scare him. If he hadn’t seen her twenty seconds ago, heard the floorboards creak and had less control of his fight or flight instincts, he would have yelped, jumped or made a complete fool of himself and be utterly humiliated. Fortunately, he had honed his lack of emotion to the point where he couldn’t express fear even if he desperately wanted to. So, Marinette’s lacklustre attempt didn’t faze him at all.

“We’re going on a bear hunt. Miss Moore assigned me to catch up on books that I’ve missed throughout my childhood. I’ll concede that this was worth it but it’s quite elementary of someone of my level. The song is quite catchy, however. What are you reading?”

“Ah, not reading. **_Re-reading_**. It’s a book by Philip Pullman. From his Dark Materials, I present Northern Lights!” she whisper yelled, imagining a crowd cheering at the name of the book. Instead, she was graced with the wonderfully blank yet somehow apathetic look on Damian’s face. 

“Why would anyone write such a book? The Northern Lights are spectacular, especially at this time of year but why would you write a non-fiction book about it?” Marinette gasped, cursing the League of Assassins for hiding a book as beautiful as Northern Lights from Damian.

“That is slander against the masterpiece that is the Northern Lights. The plot, the characterisation the motives... everything is perfect. Come on Damian. You can finish reading We're going on a bear hunt later. We’ve got a book to find.”

“ _We’re going on a book hunt,_  
 _We’re going to find a good one_  
 _What a beautiful day!_  
 _I’m not scared.”_ She sang the melody repeatedly until Damian too become absorbed by the song. People had stopped to stare in shock as Damian actual began to smile and sing.

He had a gruff yet velvety tone and yet he was a soprano, singing in a higher key than Marinette. They had checked the library first but Marinette had wanted Damian to have his own copy. Then, they went to Miss Moore’s cozy, little bookstore which served nothing. They were ordering new stock for books and she asked if they could wait a week.

“No thanks Miss. It’s urgent. See you on Monday.” And with that they were off again. They meant there first obstacle in the form of rain.

“Uh oh,” started Marinette, annoyance on her face. “It’s raining.”

“Well, we can’t go _over_ it.” Muttered Damian.

“We can’t go _under_ it.” Giggled Marinette.

“We’ll have to go **_through_** it!” they chorused, darting through the rain. They arrived at the next location way faster than they had anticipated. There had been no major slips except from when Marinette tripped over her feet and fell in mud. He’d taken off his jacket, tying it around her waist to avoid any unwelcome looks.

The next location was the local supermarket, notorious for being stacked with books. Marinette had picked up her own copy from there but when they spoke to the clerk, he said

“Someone’s just bought the whole lot. Sorry, little teapot.”

“Don’t fret, kind sir. Thank you for your help. Have a nice day.” She cried, already humming the melody. 

_“We’re going on a book hunt,_  
 _We’re going to find a good one_  
 _What a beautiful day!_  
 _I’m not scared_.” Damian had followed soon after when they were faced with their next predicament.

  
“A crowd. A big, **_huge_** crowd.” Muttered Marinette, genuinely afraid.

  
“We can’t go _over_ it!” stated Damian, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t ready to crowd surf.

  
“We can’t go _under_ it!” laughed Marinette, imagining them scuttling underneath.

  
“We’ll have to go **_through_** it!” they finished, moving carefully through. Damian barged through, careful not to hurt anyone but strong enough to make the crowd part. Marinette had tried the gentle approach, saying ‘ _excuse me'_ and ‘ _pardon me'_ when she couldn’t fit through the gaps. She had got lost in the crowd, until Damian came back and pulled her through. 

  
“Tt. That was horrible.”

  
“Thank you.” She whispered, throwing her arms around his neck.

  
“Where to next?” he asked, becoming excited at the prospect of finding the book.

  
“To the bookstore.” This bookstore was on the outskirts of the city, where it was snowing. 

  
“Uh oh! Snow.”

  
“I think we both know what happens by now. We’re going through it!” squealed Damian, running through. Thank goodness that they both had the hindsight to wear thick boots or their feet would have been frozen. 

  
“ _We’re going on a book hunt,_  
 _We’re going to find a good one_  
 _What a beautiful day!_  
 _I’m not scared.”_

They got to the store, feeling utterly tired. 

  
“Do you have the book ‘Northern Lights'?” asked Marinette, swiftly, in case they wanted to close.

  
“For you my dear, I do. That will be $4.92.”

  
“Thank you. Enjoy your day. We will get going on our way.” Said Damian, feeling positive about achieving his aim. 

  
_“We finished up our book hunt_  
 _We went and found a good one_  
 _What a beautiful day!_  
 _I’m not scared.”_ Because, he wasn’t scared. He was delighted. Elated even because he got to try a new book, go on an adventure and spend time with Marinette.

  
“The paparazzi. A **_swarm_** of paparazzi.” Whispered Marinette, shielding him from their view. 

  
“We can’t go _over_ them!” He wished he had taken his jet so they could fly above them.

  
“We can’t go _under_ them!”

  
“We’ll have to go **_through_** them! Quick the disguises!”

They put on the disguises, nonchalantly strolling through them. They stopped to ask if they’d seen the ‘ _new Wayne_ ’ anywhere around here to which they denied. When they were sure they were clear, the flung of the disguises. Unfortunately, at that moment one paparazzi member turned around, shouting “after them!”

  
Damian grabbed hold of Marinette’s hand, pulling her up the hill. 

  
“Back through the snow,” he shouted, dragging her through.

  
“Back through the crowd,” she yelled, dropping public etiquette and pushing through. 

  
“Back through the rain,” they sung, hearing the squelching sound of boots in the distance.

  
“Back at home. At last!” Yelled Marinette, ramming the door shut before slumping against it. She shook herself dry and on autopilot, moved to make herself a cup of coffee. Damian locked himself in his room devouring the book in two hours.

  
“Marinette! This book was tolerable!” he yelled, running down the stairs. “Can we get the subtle knife on the next book hunt?”


	7. Anti hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian feels more like an anti hero than a hero. Marinette feels like she's the villain in her own history.

Damian knew that he wasn’t a hero. Heroes did good deeds, kept people safe, were kind and most of all, they didn’t kill. Damian’s hands had been permanently stained by blood, he had a dormant evil within him that begged to be awakened. His life had been tainted by killing to the point where he struggled to detach himself from killing. His first solution had always been death. Grabbing his katana and killing, however small the misdemeanour appeared. The deaths had always been unnecessary, but the command ‘ _kill_ ' was innate. He couldn’t defy it, no matter how many times he had tried to repress his instincts. But that wasn’t what heroes did.

Marinette had struggled with trying to uphold the Ladybug's reputation. The pedestal that Paris had placed her on frightened her as she defended her nation. Still, she couldn’t outwardly express her concerns- the constant feeling on edge and the anxiety- lest Hawkmoth capitalise. Ladybug had to be the stoic defender of Paris, not able to crumble under the responsibility placed on her feeble shoulders. Marinette thought she was weak; knew she was weak but what other option did she have than to pretend to be strong. It was taboo for her to even show any sign of turmoil so she reigned it in. Because that was heroes do.

The first time Damian had taken up the mantle of being a Robin, he had killed. It was instinctively, given that he had just escaped from the League's clutches but he had still killed. The expression of disappointment on Bruce’s face had been ingrained in his memory, keeping him from making the same mistakes. The kill had replayed in his mind, forcing him to review his actions. And for the first time, Damian felt. He felt guilt. He felt shame. But most of all, he felt disappointment. So, Damian did what he knew best. He thrived on knowledge and he learnt quickly. He learnt of the person he killed, an image of the person they were building up in his mind.

The man had been a victim, a scapegoat. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sure, he had stolen but it was out of necessity. People stole every day in Gotham, petty crimes or not. This man had stolen food out of desperation to feed his two children and wife. He had been the sole earner for his family before he was laid off at his job. Screams of embezzlement had caused the firm to collapse and every worker associated with the incident found it difficult to find any place for work. His family could barely afford anything as it was and now, because of him, they were trapped in the ceaseless cycle of poverty. Damian had been left speechless and for the first time, he _wept._

When he had emerged, hours later, with his eyes rouge and his throat dry, his first request was to visit Crime Alley. Not to go back to the scene of the crime but to help those who were helpless. With food, shelter, money or clothing. Something that would reprieve their hardships. Bruce had been shocked to say the least, believing his ambitions to be selfish and he couldn’t oppose his statement. So, at age eleven, Damian decided that he would rather be an anti hero than a hero.

The first time Marinette had become Ladybug after Stone heart, she’d seen someone die. The winds from Stormy Weather’s parasol had caused many cars to be flung over and unfortunately, one had hit a seven-year-old. She had died instantly and Ladybug had froze, berating herself for not moving quicker. At the end of the battle, Marinette had been given the option of reviving the child or keeping her dead. Reviving her meant that she’d shorten her own life but making sacrifices is what heroes did, right?

She yelled in triumph, throwing her lucky charm in the air. Her ‘ _miraculous ladybug_ ’ chant meant the girl survived but she had put her life in dire circumstances. But it didn’t matter, she was a hero. She had to prioritise other’s before herself.

The first time Marinette had gone to Gotham, she felt a warmth, one she had never felt in all her years in Paris. She felt a weight lift off of her shoulders, finally free from the burden of keeping her emotions under lock and key. It had been even worse once she became the guardian. She had lost her youth long ago but now she had lost herself. She couldn’t even look anyone in the eye, knowing she had caused the chasm between them to widen. There were no friends, no family, no nothing. Just acquaintances held away at arm’s length. She had given up on Adrien and Luka too as well as Lila. And her apathy towards the one who thrived on attention made Lila relent in her torment until she disappeared.

The first time Robin had met Ladybug had been a messy affair. Ladybug had done her research on Gotham’s vigilantes but it seemed as though the work in Paris had been forgotten. The Parisians had already forgotten, criticising the heroes for Hawkmoth’s resurgence. Ladybug had died in the final battle against Hawkmoth, taking herself out alongside him but all footage of the battle had been deleted. That hadn’t stopped people from accusing her, whining about how she was the ‘ _ultimate sacrifice’_ who should have remained dead. Like Hawkmoth.

And honestly, she had had enough of their crap. They wanted her gone? _She’d go._ It would be like she never existed and in their time of need, they’d have no one to assist them because they had pushed the heroes away. She wanted to watch France burn, burn with all the misery and stress they put her through.

Which is why she ran to Gotham. In Gotham, she had met her patrol partner, met friends because she actually had time for that and had even been in a steady relationship. And from afar, she watched Paris burn with such fervour and brightness that she teemed with pride.

They wanted her to be a hero? She’d show them that she was destined to be the _villain_.

They wanted him to be a vigilante? He’d show them he was an antihero, and a good one at that.


	8. Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the accident, Marinette can't feel heat, according to the hospital. But when her temperature begins to skyrocket, what will their conclusion be?

“Quick, please anyone, help! _**Please**_! Her tem- her _temperature_ , it’s falling. It’s falling fast. **_Please_**! She's fading fast, so please anyone, help!” With his disguise, he was unrecognisable. Many remained ignorant to his pleas, believing it to be a scam because who's temperature was falling in summer.

But when he shed his hat, glasses and removed his well-groomed beard, crowds flocked to him.

  
It was a rare sight to see the Ice Prince beg, let alone beg for help. But the desperation in his eyes was a new occurrence as he clutched Marinette’s body to him. They had tried to separate him from her, prying him off gently but he had snapped, hissed and even kicked at them. It wasn’t until the emergency team arrived that he let go.

Although, he refused to leave her side, staying with her as they wheeled her into the back of an ambulance. He ran his gloves fingers over her knuckles, astounded that the blare of the sirens couldn’t awaken her. He saw her chest rise and fall steadily, calming him down slightly. Not all hope was lost.

“It’s going to be okay.” He whispered. Though it was incredibly unclear if he was directing the statement to himself or Marinette. With his knuckles clutching his floppy hair, he allowed his mind to wander.

  
It had been a normal date. They had watched a movie and headed into a restaurant, conspicuously to avoid being mobbed. Then, they were on their way, with a couple of detours. After all, inspiration never slept.

He was guilty for a couple of the stops, going to buy something as trivial as matching jewellery or watching the gentle cascades of the wish fountain, unheeding to the moving world around him. It wasn’t until Marinette squealed and dragged him to her newest victim of her creativity that the trance broke. He couldn’t even remember what she had been excited about before she ran to another object. The childish energy that she radiated brought a smile to his face, glad that she could indulge in her youthful obsessions.

  
Still, as he reiterated several times, Gotham wasn’t safe. If they wanted to enjoy a peaceful walk with no criminal disruptions, then they’d have to leave quickly. And they had. They had been about five minutes into their walk with Marinette showing no sign of fatigue. She had been to slow to respond but he had attributed it to the designs floating about in her head. Seven minutes in and she had fainted. 

  
“ -rinette. Marinette! Marinette!” Was the first thing Marinette had heard as she drifted in and out of consciousness. She felt sore and she had a pounding headache and it was incredibly cold. It was a struggle, keeping her eyes open but the intensity of the cold had made her shiver. It was different to the chilly winds she felt during winter. At least then she felt a little warmth. Right now, she couldn’t feel any heat even though the heating had been on. 

  
“What’s the verdict?” _Verdict? Was this a court case? And who were they talking about?_

  
“It’s only a hypothesis but she can’t feel heat. I’ve tried so many things and the temperature keeps dropping. Right now, it’s 34.3 degrees Celsius but it’s fluctuating. I don’t know if she’ll make it.” 

  
‘ _Poor sap. And didn’t these people understand the concept of privacy? Anyone could have overheard the snippets of information. And where the hell am I?'_

  
“Ahh, Mr Wayne. Marinette’s still not awake yet. And as you must be aware, visitation hours aren’t for another twenty minutes.”

  
“ ** _Please_** , let me see my habibiti. I’m _desperate_. She might be _dead_ the next time I see her. Please.”

  
“I’m sorry but I can’t bend the rules for you. I’ll see you out. Or you can sit in reception for the next twenty minutes. Let me just find my clipboard. Make your decision by then.”

  
“Ignore him. I’ll let you see Marinette but you’re going to have to get dirty. You down?”

“Always. Anything is worth it for her.”

“Let’s go. I’m going to sneak you in through the laundry basket, alright?”

“Alright. And thank you.” He whispered, choking back his tears. To think that his angel had been incapacitated for over two days and was showing no sign of recovery was chilling. What if she never woke up? 

Would everything really be okay?

“Damian?” a feeble voice croaked, coughing at the sheer effort it took to use her voice once more. “What the hell happened?”

“Angel, how are you feeling?”

“Cold and confused. But I’m happy to see you. Still, where am I?” Her voice shook as she felt the fog in her mind begin to clear up. She tracked back to the moment that she collapsed, feeling her knees buckle beneath her. 

  
Did Damian carry her home? And who was this strangely dressed woman? Was Damian that concerned about her health that he had hired a private doctor? It wasn’t that serious. All she did was faint.

  
“Miss Dupain-Cheng, you’ve been hospitalised. We’re treating you extremely carefully as of now because your case seems extremely rare.” The nurse carefully grasped her hand, humming at the coldness that gnawed at her skin.

“Rare? There’s nothing wrong with me. At least, I feel fine. I just can’t piece together what happened yesterday.”

  
“Miss, this is the third day you’ve been out, technically speaking. I’d be amazed if you could recall anything. Also, I want to test something out. Close your eyes for me, please.”

“Okay?”

“Now place your hands around these two cups.” Carefully, she placed the cups in her hands, knowing about Marinette’s clumsiness. 

“Done.” Marinette chirped, sounding overly sweet.

“Tell me which one is hotter. Can you concentrate and do that for me sweetie?”

“ _Uh huh_.” Stated Marinette, surprised at the simplicity of the drill. “They feel the same. Am I right?”

“Try again honey.”

“I- I can’t tell the difference. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I tell the difference?” She mumbled, unaware of the tears streaming down her face. 

“Miss, we believe that you lost your reception to heat when you fainted. Tell me, do you feel cold right now?”

“Yes?”

“It’s incredibly hard to describe but essentially, you can’t feel anything warm but you can still be affected by the cold. Granted, if I dropped the cup of hot chocolate on you, you’d feel the pain but you wouldn’t actually feel any warmth. It’d just be a stinging sensation. And Damian, you’re not meant to be here.” Stated the doctor, Philip. He quietly removed his glasses, wiping the steam away with his shirt. “I’m glad you were here though. If anyone deserved to be the first to see Marinette awake, it’s you.”

  
“Hon, ring the bell if you need us. We’ll give you some privacy. My partner and I need some words.”

  
“Yes, ma'am.”

“Look at you, sweet pea. So polite and formal. Everyone her calls me aunt Luna except from the grouch I got stuck with.”

“Thank you, Aunt Luna.” Luna gave a quick wave before sashaying out. Philip followed, muttering ‘ _what will I do with this woman,_ ’ to himself. In any other case, it would have been endearing but Marinette had been slowly sinking into her self induced pity.

“Damian, I don’t know if I’ll be alright. I mean _34.3 degrees Celsius_? It’s too low. Could you cuddle with me? I don’t want to regret not spending more time with you if I do die and cuddles are a good way to bond.”

“Angel, don’t speak like that.”

“What? I shouldn’t say the truth. Damian, I’m scared. I’m _so fucking_ _scared_ but I can’t do anything about it because it’s inevitable.” She felt him kiss her forehead and wrap his arms around her tightly.

“If you’re going to die then I’ll stay with you. I won’t leave your side for more than a few minutes.”

“Marinette? Hon? Sorry to interrupt this promise or whatever but why is your temperature rising? Like really quickly. It didn’t rise when I touched you but it’s at 36.4 degrees Celsius right now.”

"Huh?"


	9. White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dentist! Damian and Patient! Marinette. This is a no powers au with Tikki being a dog.

White  
“Miss Dupain-Cheng, your teeth are fine. Number 7, number 2 on the top row are eroded but the rest are fine. On the bottom row only number 3 is eroded. It probably won’t make sense and I can’t explain it now, I have another patient to see but I’ll give you a pamphlet which can explain it.” He gave her a small, awkward smile, reminiscent of the smiles Kagami used to create. She beamed at him, captivated by how lush yet sultry he sounded as he blabbered on about teeth.

“It’s fine. I’ll look it up later. Thank you, Damian.” She had been infinitely scared about setting foot in the dentistry, making sure to brush thoroughly twice before her visit. She had to look somewhat presentable before she got lectured about taking better care of her teeth. But then, she had got to the door and had thought about bolting when the door opened. In the doorway stood Damian, an average man with an average surgical mask and an average job who had the job of looking after her teeth. He was surprisingly gentle, getting her to slowly open up and relax. The visit ended promptly and she couldn’t help the disappointment she felt when she realised she wouldn’t see him for another six months.

“Marinette, don’t go! Uhh, I forgot to give you my business card. If you have any queries call that number and I’ll pick up. Or if you want to talk to someone, I’ll answer.”

“Damian, in the least creepy way possible, when does your shift finish?”

“Half an hour. Why?”

“Do you want to grab dinner with me? You can decline, you hardly know me and this was so stupid. I’ll be going now. See you around.”

“Not so fast, Mari,” he growled, a smirk on his face. “I'd love to have you for dinner. I mean have dinner. With you. Not- I’ll shut up.”

“See you in less than half an hour. Should I cook or do you want takeout?” Wait, was she overstepping the line by inviting him round? Tikki would be napping when he came around, so it wouldn’t be too disturbing to have a visitor. 

“If you don’t mind, we can cook together? Only if you want to though.”

“It’s settled then. I’ll drive us to my humble home. Do you have any allergies? Any irritation to pets?”

“I’m vegetarian and considering that I have a whole host of pets, I’d consider myself an animal lover.” He winked and Marinette could have sworn that the room started spinning.

“C-could I buy groceries on the way? And is there anything specific that you would like?”

“ _You_... decide,” he flushed, hoping that Marinette wouldn’t notice the excessively lengthy pause. “I can eat almost anything. Would you like me to accompany you to the store?”

“Yes. I’ll be waiting in reception. If you don’t see me, here’s my number. Give it a ring and I’ll come back.”

“Sure, see you later Miss Dupain-Cheng."

“See you later, Mr Wayne.” She turned on her heel, showing no sign of recognition at his last name. She waved before walking headfirst into the door. Flushed with embarrassment, she flung open the door and ran out. She closed the door, common courtesy was required, and silently took her seat, twiddling her thumbs. 

“Hey Damian, why’d you become a dentist?” she asked, after his shift ended.

“My mother is Talia Al Ghul. If you know your adverts, that woman is always there for toothpaste and toothbrushes because of how ‘ _perfect_ ' her teeth are. She’s the head of the empire I work at, where you came today.”

“Oh, I think I know your mother. She scares me. I haven’t been to your dental office for years because I was scared that I’d see her.”

“Yeah well imagine being her son. She made me get braces because no one would take the heir of her company seriously if they didn’t have straight pearly white teeth. Luckily, I escaped from her and live with my father.”

“Did they split? Wait, sorry. That was personal.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was something like a split but it was incredibly messy. My mother only let me go because I agreed to get a job as at dentist. She wanted to keep an eye on me whilst I work.”

“Well, I think you did an excellent job. Also, what does your father do?”

“He runs Wayne Enterprises? The _multi-billion company?_ ” Marinette’s expression remained blank until he pulled up a picture of the building.

“I had no idea. And I’ve been living in Gotham for _**years**_.”

“What do your parents do Marinette?” They had talked an awful lot about his family and he hadn’t even mentioned his brothers yet.

“They run a bakery. The Tom and Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie.”

“They’re so awesome. I’m not too fond of sweets but I went there on a whim and I can’t stop going back. Your father’s so homely and your mother is so sweet.” He cooed, remembering his first visit. He bought half of their stock and left an incredibly huge tip.

“Wait, you know them?” she asked, astonished that she hadn’t seen him once at the shifts she’d worked.

“ _Know_ them? We have dinner every other week. I don’t know why but it’s so snug and mellow that I can’t decline.”

“You- _you’re_ the Damian that my family keep rambling about. They love you to pieces. It’s thanks to you that I can’t enjoy a meal without them talking about you.” She murmured, idly sloshing her juice. 

“I’m sorry? If it makes you feel any better, it’s the same with my family. And I guess it’s a small world. Your parents have tried to invite you over for dinner before, if the phone calls are to go by.”

“I could have met you this entire time.”

“Yup.” He chuckled, seeing the annoyed expression on Marinette’s face. 

“Oh, dinner’s ready.” She squealed hearing the timer ding. She pulled the oven tray out of the oven, seeing the air cool the golden-brown surface. “We’ll have to wait for a few minutes and by then, my second surprise will be ready.”

“Surprise?”

“The cake. I know you said you don’t like sweets.”

“That was in the past. I love sweet things now, just not too much.”

“Well, I baked a whole cake? While you were showering. Which by the way, the new pair of clothes fit perfectly.”

“I’d love a whole wardrobe like this. It’s so comfy yet casual. Where did you get it from?”

“I made it.” She whispered, blush coating her face. It had been an awfully long time since she had designed for someone. 

“I didn’t catch that. Could you repeat it?”

“I made it. I used to design but I stopped. Not willingly but I stopped. I can make you a whole new line though. I’ll just pop out to the fabric store tomorrow.”

“Whoa, you can design? These are your designs? You were MDC? My brother loves you but then you suddenly went out of commission. What happened?”

“My website got hacked and my client’s details got stolen. They didn’t trust me anymore, save a few and I eventually got blacklisted. But c’est la vie.” She looked emotionally drained but refused to let her past overwhelm her. 

“Marinette, do you still want to design?” he asked, genuinely curious. It was clear that she still possessed raw potential and the designer in her was just dormant.

“I’m done. I’d love to but I’m done. The pressure and the constant reminders that my work wasn’t good enough holds me back.” Her tone was surprisingly bland, carrying a disinterest that made him believe she had been talking about something insignificant like the weather.

“But designing was your passion, no?” He had seen her works, been left awestruck by her work and frustrated that the chance to commission her had slipped out of his grasp.

“A passion from a long time ago. People grow and as we grow, we _learn_. I learnt that the fashion industry is fickle and brutal, not a good combination for me. I’d design for fun though. Which is why I’ll design you a new wardrobe.” She beamed, although the smile didn’t reach her eyes. 

“What was your rate? How much did you collect?”

“1000 euros for 3 outfits. 5000 euros for a wardrobe. Which is about 6000 dollars? But I won’t charge-"

“I’m not accepting it for free. I’ll pay the money but I’m not paying 6000 dollars.” For talent like hers, the rate had been exceedingly low. Especially with the efficiency she worked with and the detailed care she put into her work.

“Yes of course not, it’s very high. I’ll lower it to 2000 dollars.” Two thousand was the price of all the fabric. She couldn’t even profit from that.

“I’m paying quadruple the original amount. I’ll pay half now.” He said, pulling out his wallet and slapping the wad of cash down. “And I’ll pay the other half on Friday.”

“You carry around 12000 dollars on your person?”

“I do it _discreetly_. And you’re worth more than this. But I have a feeling you won’t accept any more.”

“I won’t accept the amount you just payed.”

“Marinette, please. I’d pay you more and I’d rather pay you for something that I’d like. Plus, I made you cry tonight.” Granted, it was with laughter but he’d seen a tear roll down her face when she thought about her website.

“Fine. But on one condition. I’m paying for the fabrics and the next dinner is my treat.”

“Cool.” Damian was internally preening at the mention of a ‘ _next_ ' time. This wasn’t a one-time thing. She still wanted to see him **_again_**.

“Oh, the food must have cooled down. I still need to ice the cake, so could you take the tray into the living room?”

“Yes ma’am.” He trudged slowly, careful not to spill any drinks or drop any of the food. He gently set down the tray, cutting it into large slices and setting a large square on each plate. The look was aesthetically pleasing, the garlic bread was crunchy, the cheese was crisp and the sweetcorn was fresh. Now all he had to do was wait for the cake.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dog leap, hitting him square in the chest. He felt it lick his face repeatedly as he chuckled, gently stroking it’s back. The dog wagged her tail, leaping off of him and running circles round him.

Quietly, she retreated, seeing Marinette walking in, cake in hand. It was a two-tier vanilla cake, layered in piped buttercream and finish with lemon drizzle. The tanginess of the lemon complimented the strawberry cream on the inside. On top, two rainbow lollipops finished it off, giving it an overall sweet tone.

“Marinette, I know you said you bake but damn you can **_bake_**. That looks great. Can I keep the lollipop?”

“You can have them both if you want. I’ve got a couple of non-frosted one’s in the cupboard if you’d rather those.”

“Marry me.” His expression showed no sign of joking as he got down on one knee but his eyes radiated with mirth.

Two could play that game.

“Save it for after the first date, lover boy.” She laughed, playfully pushing him back by his nose. “I’ll think about it after dinner.”

“Score.” He yelled, fist pumping the air. “Let me wash my face first, though. No use eating with dog slobber.”

He raced through the first portion at such quick speeds that she wondered if he hadn’t eaten before his first shift. That had made her dump more food on his plate and give him a second slice of cake.

She actually got out disposable cartons and piled the food in there. If he was hungry, he could eat that and share with his family. 

Although, if his family was as big as the reports made it out to be, she’d have to give him the whole tray.

“Damian, I was wondering whether you'd like to give some of this to your family.”

“Could I have it all?” he said, batting his puppy dog eyes at her.

“ _No._ Sharing is nice. Plus, I’ll cook for you the next time you come around. They won’t get the chance. I’ve made 12 cartons for the actual dinner and 14 for the dessert. Will that be enough? I still have more to spare.”

“Marinette, that’s more than enough. You’re an angel. A complete and utter angel.” He saw the blush creep up her neck and laughed. Had she never been told that.

“If I’m an angel then you’re a sweetheart. A-anyways, I hope you don’t mind my little fairy, Tikki. The little pit-bull in the corner? She’s quite shy around strangers but if you don’t feel comfortable with her, I’ll keep her by my side, next time.”

“I have a dog myself. Titus would adore Tikki so I shall too. And anyways, she looks real sweet.” Tikki circled his legs, sniffing lazily before settling down by his feet. He scratched behind her ears, watching her silently drift off once more.

“Would you perhaps want to walk our dogs together? I think it would be really fun and I’ll get to test your hypothesis. Plus, I have dog treats for Titus.”

“When are you free Mari? I’ve got tomorrow and Friday off.”

“I’ll see you on Friday, Damian. It’s a date.” Before he could say anything, his phone rung with ‘Pennyworth' on its display. Marinette thrust three bags filled with food in his direction before walking him to the door.

“Ah, my grandfather’s here. I’ll be on my way, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” He snickered, watching an adorable pout grace Marinette’s lips.

“I’ll see you on Friday, Damian.” She went in to kiss his cheek but he swivelled his head in shock at the fond tone that coated his name. His lips met something warm yet soft and as he opened his eyes, resigned to his fate, he saw a blushing Marinette. Marinette who was holding her purse against his lips.

He _hated_ his life.


	10. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian and Marinette are both anime nerds. Who wins in a fight? Light or Senku?

Light

“Light Yagami or Senku Ishigami? Who wins in a fight?” Asked Marinette, anger on her face.

“Light wins definitely.” Muttered Tim.

“Drake, I assume the sleep deprivation is controlling you so I shall discount your vote.” Damian raised his eyebrows, daring Tim to challenge his decision.

“Sorry Demon but I agree with Timmers. Light has the death note. Senku would be dead in seconds if his name was in that book.” Said Jason, high fiving Marinette. 

“No way. You really think Senku who survived a damn petrification apocalypse is going to lose to some teen who has problems. Sure, Light's a genius but he’s literally just an _angsty_ teen. Any of us could be Light.” Declared Stephanie, suddenly feeling philosophical and ready to write that essay that was due two weeks ago.

“Personally, Senku wins. He’s got the power of science in his hands. If Light can’t write then he loses the fight. Simple as.” Added Duke, beaming at the group.

“Right now, it’s a tie,” started Damian, internally crowning Duke as his new favourite. “We need a deciding vote.” He warily looked around, trying to find someone’s who’s opinion wouldn’t differ to his. Then his mind wandered to the perfect victim.

“Bruce!” Marinette and Damian had both come to the conclusion of Bruce through their betting past. He was easily swayed which benefitted both of them, as long as they strategized correctly. They both knew what appealed to Bruce and what didn’t. They just had to find a way to out manipulate the other person.

“No!” yelled Bruce as they tried to unlock his door. He had barricaded his door, knowing that they’d try and use him again. Last year, Damian had made him cry with how much he had raged and Marinette had made him pool in sweat with the frosty glares she directed at him. “Go away!”

“Father, what’s the matter?” Damian had never heard such genuine anger and fear in his father’s voice before that moment. And though he’d never show it, he felt legitimately felt concern for his wellbeing. So much so that he could put away the unadulterated loathing that he had festered and actually compromise with Marinette.

“Mr Bruce, are you alright?” It seemed like Marinette agreed, a curious lilt enveloping her tone. “Sir, we just want to talk to you, if that’s alright?”

“No! Go away! Both of you! I don’t want to be part of your stupid bet. All you do is play with my feelings and get angry when I’m honest. So, go away!” Bruce rarely raised his voice, so to be scolded like such had made them regret their previously actions. Their eyes remained downcast as they reluctantly walked away from the door. 

The temporary truce they had formed was abolished. They would apologise to Bruce but they needed to end their bet first.

“Babs, since you’re the most logical here, who wins in a fight? Light Yagami or Senku Ishigami?”

“Both of you, scram. I’ll take the compliment but I am not about to sell my soul to the devil and answer that question. Plus, I have no idea who those people are.” She answered, tilting her head in confusion.

“Alfred, O Wise One, who wins in a fight. Light Yagami or Senku Ishigami?” asked Marinette, peering up at him with puppy dog eyes. She was their strongest weapon but Alfred was desensitized to such cheap tactics.

“I believe, Master Damian and Miss Marinette, that I have asked you not to use me as a _pawn_ in your affairs. After all, you are both sore losers and bitter to the core if someone disputes your argument.” He turned around, going back to admire the family portraits. He grabbed his cloth, making sure the image was kept clean.

Meanwhile, Marinette and Damian had been left gawking in shock. They weren’t terrible losers. They were passionate. The others were too sensitive. That was it.

But... three people held the same opinion. It wasn’t only Bruce. They had even affected Alfred with their fiery feuds. 

“Dick, do you think we’re sore losers?” enquired Damian, eyebrows furrowed.

“Can I give the honest answer, i.e., the one that’ll get me punched in the gut or can I lie?”

  
“Honest answer, please Dick.”

“First, you call me by my first name and now you’re using your manners? Anyways, you’re both incredibly sore losers but you _kinda_ act as if you don’t care how much your actions affect the others.” Dick said, keeping the table between them. He could not trust Damian’s promise, and he needed an escape exit, after he made his lunch.

“Oh,” they both said. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait,” started Marinette. “this is hella creepy. Can we _not_ talk in sync?”

“Dick, I’m sorry for every time I’ve done anything like that to make you feel guilty or inferior for something you didn’t do. Or something you did that didn’t appeal to me.” Damian bowed, relinquishing his pride and trading it for apologies.

“Dick, I’m sorry for being bitter and same as him. I know that I’m quite good at keeping my emotions under check but if they slip out then I’m terrible at controlling them. So, I’m really sorry.” Marinette had followed Damian’s actions and bowed too.

“Bruce! Call an ambulance! Damian’s being polite.”

“I deserve that.” He murmured, looking over to see Marinette giggling.

“Yes, you do.” She teased, highly amused. “But so, do I. Damian, let’s not fight and involve other people into our bets ever again.”

“What?” cried Jason, outraged. “You can’t do that. Those bets were my one source of amusement. Demon Spawn, don’t agree to her terms.”

“Ok, Angel. I promise I won’t do that again.” He pulled her into a hug, using his inch of height to rest his chin atop of her head.

“No, lover boy was weakened by her Marinette charm. Your resolve is so weak to her. You-" Marinette could see Damian’s veins throbbing and his body vibrated with anger as he picked up a slice of bread and launched it at Jason’s face. His accuracy had been perfect, hitting him in the centre of his face to which the house erupted into laughter.

“Let’s leave him be and get started on the apologies, eh?” They had one for every member of the family including Jason, who begrudgingly accepted his own.

And Bruce? Well, Bruce had awoken to breakfast in bed and a heartfelt note of apology which had left him chipper and upbeat for the rest of the day.


	11. School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette's first day at Gotham Academy.  
> WARNING: MENTION OF PANIC ATTACK

“Why are you here?” Cried a voice.

“Is it true you got expelled for pulling the fire alarm and pushing a girl down the stairs.” Hollered another.

“I heard she was a bully.” Sneered a sickly voice, glowering fiercely at her.

“I heard that she designs for Jagged Stone.”

“And she was in Clara Nightingale's music video.”

“And she knows Adrien Agreste. And Luka Couffaine. And Kagami Tsurugi. They’re all so dreamy. And you’re so _plain_.”

“Do you think you can set me up?” Clamoured numerous voices, the harsh cacophonous sound blending into one. 

“She’s probably lying. I _mean..._ look at her. What’s she got to offer to **_them_**?” Marinette had stood there, quivering with beads of sweat trickling down her forehead. She had paled, teetering backwards and forwards, reliving the memories of her last school. Their questions flew over her head as she wrapped her arms around herself, eyes widening. 

They were going to scream at her. And shout. She had to answer them. She owed it to them to provide an answer. She just couldn’t find her voice. Why couldn’t she find her voice?

‘ _Please_ ,’ she thought, feeling the dreadful sensation of helplessness overwhelm her. ‘ _Please, leave me alone.’_

“Jon, what’s the commotion all about?” Damian stated, bored by the fickleness of the school. 

“We both just got here? Why would _I know?_ ” he asked, quirking a brow at the senseless of the question.

“Superhuman hearing? Enhanced visual perception? X-ray vision? Need I go on, Kent?”

“Nope,” he whispered cheerfully, popping the ‘p'. Carefully, he listened, hearing the signs reminiscent of a panic attack. “Damian, we need to save her.”

“What? Save who?” He hissed, feeling discomfort of being sandwiched between so many bodies. “Jon, slow down.”

“Hey!” yelled Jon, releasing Damian’s hand. “Leave her alone. Just because she’s new doesn’t mean she wants to be mobbed by you guys. Can’t you see she’s shaking?” Jon moved slowly towards her, gently extending his hand so he wouldn’t frighten her. Her grip had been tight and as he glanced at her; he saw her eyes shimmer with tears. He motioned behind him, waiting for her to step aside so he could deal with the crowd. She nodded, before reluctantly hiding behind him, giving him enough time to steel himself.

A chill ran through the room as he directed his glare towards them. The crowd quickly dispersed, no one willing enough to pester the new girl and be used as a sacrifice to Jon. The only one who loitered had been Damian who had been busy nursing a migraine through Jon's act of heroism. He had snarled when he felt someone throw their arm around his shoulder and his eye hadn’t stopped twitching since.

‘ _Jon_ ,’ he thought, pondering on how long it would take to sharpen his katana. ‘ _Enjoy your time now because I am going to kill you.’_

“Jon, let’s go. I can’t believe you brought me here for something as superficial and monotonous as petty school drama.”

“Damian, we can’t leave her alone. She needs someone to talk to.”

“I’m sure she’ll manage by herself.” Damian had felt a slight twinge of guilt at his statement but he didn’t need another companion. The rumours would flare and he couldn’t risk his reputation for someone as weak as her.

“Jon? I’Il be quite alright. This is far from the ordinary. I deal with this every other week.” She whispered; her English heavily accented.

“Miss?”

“Marinette.”

“Marinette, can I speak to my friend for a minute?” Jon asked, flashing a strained smile at her.

“I could not possibly refrain you from speaking to your friend. I’ll be gone by the time you come back.” She said, her voice bland as she focused on collecting her belongings.

“No! Please, stay. I’ll be right back.” Once she nodded, he dragged Damian by his collar to the silent corridor.

“We are _**not**_ letting her stay.”

“Damian, if you don’t let her stay with us, I’m gone.”

“You’re really risking _our friendship_ for a stranger? You wouldn’t dare.”

“Yup. I’m deadly serious.”

“I enjoyed solitude quite well before you barged into my life.” Damian bluffed, waiting with bated breath to hear his decision.

“Very well then. See you around, _**Wayne**_.” He whispered, his voice ice cold.

“Jon, wait. She can stay. But I’m not going to get along with her. We’re completely different.”

“ _Opposites attract_.” Sang Jon, a bright beam on his face. “You should know that **_Mr. Know -it- al_** l.” Damian groaned, perplexed as to how he was acquainted with someone so happy go lucky. His change in demeanour would have been enough to give a lesser human whiplash but he’d had become acquainted with his shift in character. 

That was just how Jon was. An adorable ray of sunshine who’d leave you contemplating your entire friendship with regret. But you also knew that he’d have your back every step of the way so a few weeks of headaches were nothing. 

“She’s gone.”

“Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“She left. She’s vanished. She promised that she’d stay.” He sniffled, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

“Kent, she’s under the damn table. Look.” Damian had to commend her camouflaging skills. They were incredible, considering that she had managed to avoid detection by someone who had x-ray vision. She was smart, resourceful and cute. She also had a soft spot for kittens. Maybe she would be a great ally. Maybe he could let her meet Alfred.

Maybe Jon was right, just this once.

“Sorry, Damian, this may be a little too soon, considering that I met you about twenty minutes ago. But I need your help.” She watched him grimace at the word _‘help_ ' before looking to Jon, who thankfully nodded. She gestured to her bag and noticing his hesitation, she gave him the option to back out.

“I’ll do it. But I won’t exactly be happy about it.” 


	12. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Marinette= Flirty, smooth Marinette

  
Note to self. Never ever ever under any circumstances, allow Marinette to get drunk. This woman did some embarrassing yet objectively hot, not to him but from the average person’s perspective, things. Combine her lack of awareness with her brute strength and you would have created an unstoppable force. There was no stopping her from climbing up onto the tables, dancing drunkenly, crowd surfing and singing karaoke. He was appointed as her personal chauffeur, unwillingly of course because drunk Marinette was a handful.

  
She had been dressed in a white tee and fitted jeans with high heels. Suffice to say, the white t-shirt had ended up looking like a used rag cloth or a painted canvas with the explosion of colour. Marinette could hardly finish her wine, champagne, tequila or the ‘babyish' pink lemonade he had ordered to slow her down. It had worked, to his credit, until she started dribbling her drink down her chest. Her shirt began to cling to her at awkward angles and he had to ask an equally drunk Gordon to help.

He had blushed the entire while, thrusting clean tissues in her direction before turning away to give them some privacy.

  
Maybe he should have just cleaned up her shirt himself because he heard Gordon slur the words ‘ _finish_ ' at him. He had put too much faith in her as Marinette’s shirt had ended up with more holes than the Joker dummy that Jason kept. The intrusion of fake nails could easily be seen as the light highlighted Marinette’s predicament.

Rather than leave her to the prying eyes of the public, he opted instead to shrug of his faux leather jacket and pull Marinette’s arms through. It was a little too large for her but it covered most of the rips. And he could easily cover the last few, so long as he didn’t lose Marinette in the crowd.  
He... _how?_

  
He’d lost Marinette. He had jinxed himself but he had only been in the toilet for two minutes, tops. So, how she managed to wander off without tripping or at least being slowed down by how intoxicated she had been was breathtakingly remarkable. A drunk Marinette possessed more grace than his everyday Marinette. He, however, carried himself with elegance and poise, two things which would remain firmly out of her reach for a long time. Although, socialising and ‘normal speak' was something that he struggled infinitely with.

  
Which is why he felt ashamed when he saw everyone else mingling. Including Marinette. She had left to talk to someone who probably wouldn’t be so burdensome to her. They wouldn’t restrict her actions and they’d spur her into doing something completely stupid. Maybe it would be crowd surfing or drunken karaoke again. Maybe it would be dancing in the middle of the dance floor or making an elaborate confession to the person she loved. It was obviously not him; she wouldn’t be so brazen to ask for his own advice to woo himself. It was too risky and he wasn’t incognizant enough not to notice the usual cues of love.

After all, he was in love himself and as much as he disregarded emotions, even he noticed when she broke down his abrasive and arrogant interior.  
He felt his heart swell, feeling as though he was soaring. And then, he remembered the expression of longing etched onto Marinette’s face as she chatted to the man and swiftly felt his heart plummet. He turned, feeling lost and alone, wanting to leave the suffocating atmosphere that the club held but his concern for Marinette outweighed his own adversities. His priorities were clear, perhaps not the brightest but clear. 

  
Begrudgingly, he trailed back to Marinette, watching her attempt and fail to mount the table. On her second attempt, she managed it albeit a little shakily. With a boom box synced to a microphone in one hand and a glow stick in the other, she began her speech. 

  
“I’ve been i-in love with this guy for years. He hasn’t noticed o-once a-and he prides himself on being a know it all. Don’t get me wrong, most of the time, he’s an emotionally constipated piece of crap but if you saw him with a kitten, you’d been swooning too. H-he may have some incredibly desirable qualities like being rich and handsome but h-his slow path to opening up made me fall in love with him. It seems like with ever crush I have, I start off thinking that they’re a douche,” she giggled, scanning the crowd looking for her former flames. They cheered and two distinctly clear ‘ _here here's_ ' reverberated through the club.

  
“Anyways, he was a douche on the outside but that was how he was programmed. It was a laborious effort to try and break down his walls and when I did, it didn’t disappoint. I didn’t think it was possible but he was even sweeter than me. Only when he thought no one was watching of course. He still had a reputation to uphold. Honestly, I’d didn’t want to confess tonight but seeing him walk away was scary. I thought he was ready to close the door on our relationship. So, DJ, hit it. I’ll convey my feelings through this song.”

  
_“The day started ordinary,_  
 _Boys walking by ( ooo ooo._ )” It was her first day at her new job at Aunt Selina's jewellery store. Several people had popped in telling her how pretty she was and enquiring about how much items would cost.

  
_“It was the same old story_  
 _Too fresh or too shy (ooo ooo)”_ She had been too shy to tell them that she was new but she had visited the store plenty of times and Selina told her to ring the bell if there was any trouble.

  
_“I’m not the type to fall for a guy_  
 _who flashes a smile (it goes on for miles).”_ Several people had drop dead gorgeous smiles that she wondered if the whole darkness surrounding Gotham was a lie. Still, she appreciated the blinding light but it wasn’t enough for her to love every customer who did so.

  
“ _Don’t usually swoon_  
 _But I’m over the moon (cuz he was just too cool for school.)”_ Damian was a rare exception. She’d hated him from the moment she met him but as she got to properly know him, she began to fall deeply in love.

  
“ _And now_  
 _I’m falling for ya, falling for ya.”_  
 _“I know I shouldn’t but I_  
 _I just can’t stop myself from_  
 _Falling for ya, falling for ya.”_

Every time she saw him, she fell harder and kicked herself repeatedly. He had already expressed his disinterest at the pursuit of a relationship. And as much as she respected his boundaries, it was too hard to move on. Not when she walked in on him playfully tickling Titus or gently rocking M’ari. Not when she watched him sigh in disgust before changing and cooking an entirely new meal for her. Not when she saw him tutor a child -something of which he had no obligation to do- and actually grin when the kid got it right.

  
“ _Can’t hold on any longer_  
 _And now I’m falling for ya_.” It was like the dam holding back her feelings burst as she scanned the crowd for his face. Her expression fell slightly until she locked eyes with him, drinking in his gobsmacked yet heartbroken expression. 

  
No, that didn’t make any sense. Why would he be heartbroken?

  
Welp. She didn’t have time to dwell on the thought as she mistimed her twirl, clipping the back of her heel. She felt herself fall, waiting to feel the impact of her hitting the cold, inviting floor. Instead, two sturdy arms wrapped themselves around her, grunting at the sudden deposit of weight. 

  
He had caught her! He had actually caught her!

  
“Don’t do that again, you idiot.”

  
She gasped, laughing quietly at the bad joke that had flitted through her mind. 

  
“Guess I really did fall for you.” She whispered, nuzzling her nose into his neck.

  
“Huh?”


	13. Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian hears a little baby cry in the deep dark alleys of Crime Alley. His paternal instincts kick in and he saves her. Only for him to adopt her.

  
Damian had been patrolling with Ladybug and Red Robin on a terrify dreary day. The heavy downpour that hit Gotham had left a heady scent in the air and his nose wrinkled as he heard Red Robin sneeze. A crackle could be heard through his earpiece.

“Timbo, are you alright? You sound terrible.” Teased Todd, hearing Drake stutter an answer out. His nose had turned an awful scarlet colour and snot dribbled slightly down his face.

“No names on the field, _Hood_!” he hissed, irritated at the lack of care Todd took when he wasn’t physically on the mission. 

“Whatever, Robin! Relax, no one’s going to hear me whisper his name.”

“What if comms are disrupted? Or if they’re intercepted? All of our identities would be at stake because of that one little whisper. Do you really want to take that risk?” His tone was sharp as he waited for a response. He’d prodded holes at Todd’s flawed logic, knowing how much he despised that and had reprimanded him. And Todd couldn’t even respond!

“You know what? Fuck you, gremlin. Go play tonsil hockey with your girlfriend, demon spawn. I don’t have to put up with your shit!” yelled Jason, raising his voice loud enough that Nightwing fizzled in whispering a command to ‘hush'.

“No names on the field! You’re not even going to listen to my point so I bid you adieu Hood. If we get caught, it’s on you.” He turned, hopping on to the building opposite to the now densely populated one.

“Robin, where are you going? You can’t just leave, we’re on a mission.” Yelled Oracle, before hearing the familiar ‘disconnection’ noise. 

Damian had landed in a secluded alleyway when he heard. A distressing cry. It had been close by if the shrill ringing reverberating around the alleyway was any indication. He scanned the alley, looking for the most logical places to hide someone. He heard the cry again, slightly more hoarse and definitely softer. If he was going to find out where it was coming from, he’d need to block out any and every distraction. If he was a villain, where would he hide them?

The dumpster! It made sense. Carefully, he wheeled out the dumpster, making sure it wouldn’t crunch anything on the way round. In one swift leap, he vaulted over the bin and behind the dumpster lay a child in a buggy. Around five or six months old, the voice in his head clamoured. He saw the baby wail, eyes shuttered tight before the cries died down to a whimper and then completely ceased. 

Two big, hazel eyes looked in his direction, gurgling with happiness. He lifted her up resting her head on his shoulder as she grabbed clumps of his hair. He found himself laughing, despite himself, whilst she gently tugged. She seemed so precious but he found one question replaying in his mind.

Where was her family? There was a note in her stroller but he had wanted to take care of her first. She had seemed so distressed when he had first found her but she had calmed down. He laid her down on his lap as she half-heartedly clawed at his chest. As he read the letter, he scooped her up in one arm, holding onto the hope that her mother would return. Although, from the sound of the letter, this baby was nothing more than a pawn in her mother’s plan. To make her profit and render the child completely unstable. This kid was a lot like him. And as he felt his throat become dry, he clutched her closer to his chest, letting the dull thud of his heart lull her to sleep.

Damian had waited for hours, praying that it was a misunderstanding. Of course, he had grown to fond of the little devil to give her up but he prayed that she at least had a mother who cared. The glimpse of optimism burned out as two thugs approached the alleyway, in search of his little girl. He had knocked them out -no one messed with his queen- and had tied their wrists together. They’d be in for a nasty surprise when they awoke at the GCPD on charges of child trafficking.

He had arrived at the manor relatively early and with Gordon holed up in the bat cave, there was no one around to disturb him. He got some formula out of the cupboard, eternally grateful that Alfred had stocked up over the last few months. There had been a spare baby bottle hanging around which found, dumping the mixture into the bottle and shaking it. His sudden movements had woken her up and she fought for the bottle, adamantly pulling his leg. Tentatively, he pushed the bottle in her direction, watching her latch on and anxiously waiting for her to finish. She burped, content with just the one bottle. 

“Abu buu.” She babbled, grabbing his face with her grubby little hands.

“Good night, little one. Gaa buu buu.” She seemed content with his reply as her eyes fluttered shut and she laid there, sprawled across his thighs. He stroked her curly hair, quietly humming the song his mother would sing to him as a child when the League hadn’t indoctrinated her. He had gotten to the third verse, when the door was flung open and loud chatter filled the house. He could feel his little girl begin to get agitated and he hummed louder, gently shushing her. 

“Demon Spawn! You little fucker,” Jason yelled, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. “You want to criticise me but you can’t even do your own job? Look at you, slacking off in the warmth of the manor! Come talk to me when actually grow a spine.”

“Jason, leave him alone. Damian’s had a tough time and you know he must have had a reason to leave like that. It’s unconventional for him to willingly miss patrol.” Intercepted Marinette, joining hands with Damian. 

“Does anyone want to explain why there is a bottle of baby milk on the table?”

“You came back to drink milk,” said Jason, incredulous yet disgusted. “that’s a new low for you, gremlin.” He stalked away, slamming open the kitchen door 

“Marinette, they were going to sell her.” He whispered; eyes unfocused.

“What? Sell who?” retorted Marinette; expressionless.

“The little one. I had to rescue her. She’s the cutest bundle of sunshine I’ve seen. I couldn’t let them hurt her. That’s why I didn’t come back. I couldn’t return because I was looking after her.” Marinette let him rest his head against her shoulder, running her hands through his hair. She could hear his laboured breathing and feel the uncharacteristic wetness stain his cheeks. 

“Dames, it’s okay. Deep breaths, right? One in, two out.”

“She’s like me Mari, I can’t ignore that,” he shuddered, feeling his heart rate return slightly back to normal. “I hope you’re not angry.”

“Angry? No. I just want to meet her. Damian, if you want, we can raise her together? We’ll just have to adopt her and all but I’m down with raising her. After all, she’s been ferociously protected by you so who am I to say no?” 

“It’s settled. We’ll adopt her,” he murmured, lifting her up from his lap. He heard Marinette gasp as he nuzzled his nose against hers. “She'll be our very own daughter.”

“Woah, sweet baby!” cried Tim, excessively sweet deprived to notice that the baby wasn’t Bruce’s or that the baby hadn’t meant to be there. He hoped the adoption process wouldn’t be excessively lengthy, given that he had proof of her previous ward not wanting to have custody of the child. His very first child.

Whoever said the adopting addiction within the Wayne family wasn’t hereditary was a _liar_.


	14. Hot chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When water fights are prohibited, the Wayne family turn to baking. And so, the bitter bake off commences.

In winter, it probably wasn’t the best idea to have a water balloon fight. It wasn’t the best time to have a fight anyways, especially not with water. And especially not when the people you were fighting against had egos the size of continents. So, instead of the idiotic water fight that they had last time, they decide to try something that wouldn’t make them all sick, leave them bed bound with watery noses and miss the cool firework display. 

The only solution was to have a cook off.

Dick and Jason, the two perpetrators of the water fight would have to repent and make the largest meal. Lasagne. Tim and Steph would have to make coffee and tea. Cass and Claire would have to make waffles and orange juice, with the toppings on top widely available. Anything was fair game. Babs and Duke would be baking cupcakes, the flavour of course was not restricted which meant it could be anything from chocolate to blueberry.

And finally, Damian and Marinette. The competitive couple. They had the pleasure of making hot chocolate and cookies. Regal and elegant or clumsy and chunky. The aesthetics hadn’t mattered as long as the final product tasted fantastic. The judge, in all his impartial, impassioned glory, was decided to be Alfred. Bruce had been made a secondary decider by default. 

The bake-off results had seen Jason and Dick tie and Tim win with his extensive knowledge on coffee and knowing secretly how to make a mean chai and lemon tea, which he had been ashamed of knowing. Cass had won, although it was a marginal victory and Babs bad obliterated Duke with her white chocolate chip muffins stuffed with frozen berries. And the deciding parties had yet to come to a decision for who made the best hot chocolate.

Marinette’s recipe had been melting chocolate buttons, preferring the authenticity of the actual chocolate to pre-packaged powder. She had made her whipped cream from scratch, making sure it was sweet enough to compliment the hot cocoa itself. She added a pinch of sugar into her hit chocolate, swirling until it was completely dissolved and for the festive spirit, she crushed her candy canes that she had been saving and liberally spread it across the cream, along with her secret stash of marshmallows. Lastly, came the spiced strawberry drizzle. It was light and sweet but also had a strong kick to provide a balance to the sweetness.

The cookies she had made were dark chocolate mint cookies with a sweet white chocolate filling. Marinette thanked the heavens that she grew up in a bakery as a child, learning all different recipes and experimenting with slightly weird combos. It meant that she had learnt what clashed too harshly and what fit together like a sweet symphony. If Marinette lost the cook off, she’d put it down to partial judgement with a bias against her.

Damian had been grateful to his mother for a couple of things but at this moment, he was glad that she pestered him to learn a few recipes. Although, it had been down to his failed attempts at baking in the kitchen which meant she had forced herself to teach him. One of the lessons had been on how to make the best hot cocoa with an amazing side dish. After all, Al Ghul's didn’t get complacent and settle for ordinary. They went above and beyond. 

Which was why he devoted all his energy into the cook off. He got his chocolate powder, stirring until his arm began to feel numb. He could see his mother beside him, carefully guiding him through the steps. He had added the sugar first before pouring in the water from the kettle. In the middle of his hot cocoa, he piped a hazelnut filling, coating it with sugar before dumping in the rest of the hot chocolate. Out of the fridge, he had grabbed Alfred’s special whipped cream, swirling it around the top before letting it set. He grabbed his chocolate orange cookies coated in sugar, placing them in a flower like formation before he turned his attention back to his hot chocolate. He grabbed the popping candy he had hid in the cupboard for special occasions and sprinkled it in before finishing with a nicely spread chocolate drizzle.

“Times up, bakers. Please, step away from your creations. Change out of your outfits and hurry back straight away.” Announced Jason through his megaphone. “The judges will be blindly reacting to your dishes so be quick before you miss the verdict.” Marinette had sprinted up the stairs, changing in the guest room before sprinting back down. She had been dressed in Damian’s oversized hoodie and sparkly black shorts.

Damian had followed soon after in his goofy cat shirt and loose jogging bottoms.

“You suck up!” hissed Marinette, warily eyeing his cat shirt. “You said it was terrible last year, but now you’re beaming like a loon so you can win.”

“I’m hurt by the accusation. I said and did no such thing. I am merely appreciative of a gift, Dupain-Cheng.”

“Oh, it’s on Wayne!” She yelled, eyes twitching. She had already won the contest but it’d be nice to gloat in Damian’s face once Alfred announced it.

“So, Pennyworth. Who won?” asked Damian, bouncing in his seat from his pent-up energy.

“Master Damian-"

“Yes, I won. How’s it feel to lose to me?”

“Master Damian, I was simply addressing you. The winner of the contest is the strawberry drizzle and mint chocolate cookies. Judging by the deflated expression on your face, I presume it was Marinette’s.”

“Yup. They were mine.” Squeaked Marinette, already doing her victory dance. “Admit it Damian. I’m better at this than you. I make amazing hot chocolate.”

“Miss Marinette, whilst you may have won, the margins still remained tight. If Damian had made his own whipped cream then he just may have beaten you. But for now, you make the best hot chocolate in the house.”

“Excluding you, Alfred. You’re always at the top.”


End file.
